Better Off Friends

Chapter 3 - Macallan

“What if I got my hair cut?”

It was such a simple question that Levi asked, but he had no idea what a what if question did to me. It was a game I played with myself often. I had been doing it a lot that summer before eighth grade.

What if I hadn’t been the one to show Levi around on his first day of school?

What if I hadn’t seen his “Blimey If” button and opened up a conversation to see what else I knew about him?

What if Uncle Adam had never mentioned Wednesday nights to Levi’s mom?

What if his mom wasn’t always around when I needed her?

But that’s the thing with the what if game -- you really can never know the answer to the question. And maybe it’s better that way.

Because underneath the surface what ifs were much worse ones.

What if you hadn’t forgetten your science book that day?

What if hadn’t been raining?

What if the other driver hadn’t been texting?

What if Mom had paused for even three seconds before leaving that day?

What if?

“Ah, Macallan?” Levi waved his hand in front of my face. “What do you think?”

Levi removed the elastic from his hair and it fell a few inches down his back. “I feel like I need a new start for eighth grade.”

I shrugged. “Might be nice.”

“Even a few of my buddies back home have finally cut their hair.”

Back home.

I noticed that even though Levi had been here for nearly a year, and his parents had no plans on moving back to California, he kept referring to California as “back home.” Like he hadn’t fully been able to accept that this was now his home.

“So?” Levi asked.

It was then that I realized that he had walked us to the hair salon at the mall.

“Right now?”

He hesitated for a few moments. “Why not?”

Twenty minutes later he was seated in a chair, his hair back in its familiar ponytail. The stylist grabbed it and then worked her scissors across. And in a few short seconds, the ponytail came loose.

Levi’s hands went directly to the back of his head. “So crazy.” His voice sounded a little distant, like he couldn’t believe it himself.

The stylist then handed me the hair. I studied it, thinking about how long he’d been growing it out. About how Levi had this whole other life before I met him. It hit me then about what it must’ve been really like to start over.

In some ways, I felt like I’d had to start over after the accident. But I still woke up in the same bed, went to the same school, had the same friends. There was something reassuring about waking up and knowing you were home. Hopefully, Levi would get to the point that he would feel like this was home to him.

I watched transfixed as more of Levi’s hair came cascading down around his chair. The stylist didn’t talk much, concentrating on angles of his hair. When she was done cutting and styling, she turned Levi’s chair around and he faced me. I hardly recognized him. His hair was now only about an inch long at the top and appeared darker, more dirty blond, probably since his “newer” hair hadn’t seen much of the sun.